She is the core, the source of life, The earth in her bosom, survives. The scorching sun, a Halo to her crown, The sparkling moon, the shine in her eye, The bruise from the thorn, her adornment of flowers. She is the day, the night, the circle of life, Do not anger her, or it will subside, The delicate harmony of the universe; for which her radiance alone can suffice.